Warm and Real and Bright
by MissDizzyD
Summary: A bunch of one-shots about Stiles' life as Derek's mate. With: cats, scary movies, cookery lessons and fun-packed full moons.
1. Cat

**Cat**

Stiles knew that cats and dogs didn't get along. Honestly, he knew that. And he had known that when he agreed to this little cakewalk of a job but seriously, Derek's reaction was way over the top. The nostril-flaring and eye-glowing as he crept into the Stilinski house were 100% unnecessary and then backing away from the cat like it was a poisonous snake? That was just stupid. Derek was an Alpha werewolf for crying out loud, and Tilly was a six month old kitten. Stiles was pretty sure Derek would probably win that fight.

Besides, it would only last for two weeks while Stiles' neighbour was on holiday and then Tilly would be handed back, Stiles would be $50 richer and Derek could go back to not skirting around the edge of whatever room the cat was in. Everyone would be happy. Sure, Stiles would have to hoover the entire house to get rid of the fur, but he'd have $50.

That was the theory, the reason he had accepted, because getting paid for spending two weeks with an adorable bundle of fuzz hardly seemed like a job.

_Theory. _

It took Stiles right up until it jumped on the bed while him and Derek were making out to realise the cat was the Devil incarnate, because instead of Derek's half-naked, muscle bound frame on top of him he had a purring mass of fur kneading and nuzzling on his bare chest. He stared at her, nonplussed, as she yawned and stretched out, obviously getting ready for a loooooooong nap. Cockblocked by a cat. What even?

Derek jerked away to stand by the doorway, exuding jealousy.

"You're still my favourite," Stiles said to Derek, only half-joking. Derek was still insecure about their relationship even after six months. Insecure enough that he would probably think their cute lodger-kitten would come between them, which it definitely wouldn't because, seriously, mating bonds. They're pretty strong. Stiles nudged the kitten but she stared at him with huge, innocent, emerald green eyes. "Come on, off."

"I think she's comfy," Derek said sarcastically, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at the kitten.

"No, really, Derek?" He answered, ignoring the annoyed look he got in return. "I'd never have guessed. With all my investigative instincts I never realised that she might be _comfy_. Thanks for sharing, the purring had me confused."

Derek grabbed his shirt and stalked out of the room.

"See what you did?" He said to Tilly, who ignored him and buried her nose in her tail. He scratched her behind her ear. "You're officially a home-wrecker."

...

It was two days later when he first saw Tilly as a threat to his wellbeing. Sure, interrupting Stiles' sexy time with Derek had been seriously annoying and attacking the loose thread on Erica's jacket had resulted in a major wolf-tantrum complete with foot-stomping and growling, but he didn't take the wolves' complaints seriously until he was on the receiving end on Tilly's claws.

She didn't do it on purpose. Stiles maintained that viewpoint even while Derek was cleaning the wounds on his arm meticulously with antiseptic. She was only playing. He had been dragging a catnip mouse across the floor in the living room (watched disdainfully by Derek, who muttered that a predator shouldn't be so easily fooled) and Tilly had pounced on the objects that smelled like cat drugs, Stiles' hand included. Cue blood, a snarling Derek and a frightened kitten that ran to hide behind the sofa, mewling pitifully.

"You scared her," Stiles said when Derek was clearing away the first aid kit. "You're going to be renowned for terrifying small animals."

"She attacked my mate. She's lucky to be alive," Derek replied, matter of fact, like threatening a tiny kitten's life was standard behaviour.

"Okay, that kind of wolfy shit might make sense to you, but she's a _kitten_, not a wolf," he walked over and rested his head against Derek's shoulder, tangling their fingers together. "I like it when you call me your mate." He looked up just in time to see Derek's eyes flash from red back to green and then darken as the pupils expanded. "I like it a lot," he whispered, millimetres from Derek's lips, before kissing him slowly and thoroughly, sliding their tongues together and pulling away all too soon. "I could shut her in the living room? Dad won't be home until later..."

"That," Derek replied, taking his hand off Stiles' neck, "Sounds like a good plan."

...

"Derek?" Stiles murmured into the darkness. He got no reply, even though he could feel Derek's broad, muscled chest behind him. The menu of the film they had been watching was playing on a loop, epic music turned right down in the background. Apart from the light from the screen, the room was completely dark. Movement on his legs told him that Tilly was curled up, sleeping on his lap like she normally does in the evenings. He took a moment to stroke her silky white fur before plucking her off and setting her on the couch next to him, then standing up himself and stumbling through to the bathroom.

While Stiles was washing his hands, he heard a disgusted noise coming from the living room, followed by a slightly hysterical call of his name. He _ran_ through the kitchen into the lounge, like, Usain Bolt would be proud of the speed he travelled.

"She _scent-marked _me!"

Stiles couldn't even stay on his feet he was laughing so much. He crumpled onto the armchair nearest to him and laughed so hard he wept because strong, tough Derek 'I'm the Alpha' Hale was looking at the kitten leaning on his chest with outright revulsion. He looked so confused that Stiles just wanted to hug him. It was adorable. Instead, he whipped his phone out and snapped a picture, forwarding it to the entire pack before Derek realised what he was doing.

Only then did he walk over and lift Tilly easily off of him, cradling her gently in his arms.

"Isn't she a cutie? She accepted you, that's what scent-marking is, don't worry," Stiles said, running his fingers softly through her belly-fur until she was purring happily again. Derek continued to watch them grumpily until Tilly wriggled free and went in search of food. Stiles flopped back down, half sat on Derek. "I love you. You know that, don't you?" It was a rare moment of clarity. Derek needed reminding every now and then and, like always, his eyes softened and he kissed Stiles' forehead.

"I love you, too," Derek responded, "But tell me there isn't long left."

"Another week. We've reached the halfway point." Stiles laughed at the despairing look on Derek's face.

...

Stiles got home from delivering his dad's lunch to find Derek's Camaro parked at the side of the road with no one in it. From that, it was a pretty safe guess that Derek was inside somewhere, either using the key Stiles gave him or taking his preferred route through the window. Honestly, someone needed to teach werewolves some manners. He unlocked the front door and called out a greeting. There was no answer apart from a weird burst of movement from the living room. Stiles walked through frowning.

Derek was sat awkwardly on the sofa closest to the TV, some weird cooking programme that he liked for some reason on the screen. The Alpha was making a valiant, but no less obvious attempt at avoiding Stiles' gaze. That made Stiles frown even more until he walked around the sofa and saw Tilly on the floor, stood awkwardly with her fur ruffled and stuck up at odd angles. Her eyes looked bleary... Almost like she'd just woken up...

Stiles felt Derek's kitten-warm legs and then gave him an unimpressed look.

"Did you throw her off just because you didn't want me to see that you like her?" He asked, raising his eyebrows when Derek stuttered and tried to deny it. Stiles picked Tilly off the floor and held her out to Derek, who took her without a word and set her back on his lap, smoothing down her fur. "It's nice to see you've accepted her to the pack."

"More like _she's_ accepted _me_," Derek muttered bitterly, belied by the fact he was looking at her with something akin to tenderness in his eyes. Stiles sat down next and tucked his feet under himself, leaning heavily against Derek.

"Thank you," Stiles said, kissing the patch of skin just below Derek's ear.

"What for?" Derek asked, nuzzling into Stiles, who bared his neck shamelessly.

"For not being your usual douchey self to her, even if it took you a while to come round."

"I think there's a compliment in there somewhere," Derek said, kissing the moles on his throat almost reverently. "And you're welcome. But if she hurts you..."

"Aww. Willing to protect me from vicious kitty claws?" Stiles teased before dropping a kiss on Derek's frowning mouth. "You're such a superhero."


	2. Halloween

_Now might be a good time to tell you that there will be no proper timeline or anything here; I'll just jump around from future to past to whatever I feel like at the time._

_Dizzy :) xx_

**Halloween**

"I don't understand," Derek said out of the blue in the middle of _Psycho_.

"What is it this time?" Stiles asked, thinking back to last time when he'd been forced to explain causality with a bagel and a blow torch. That was a lot of fun.

"Human obsession with... This," he pointed a finger at the screen, an innocent enough shower scene. They watch as the girl gets knifed to death, the dark blood diluted with water and then running down the plug hole. It reminded Stiles a bit too much of Lydia and the circumstances under which she went missing for him to properly enjoy the cinematography of it.

"'This' being horror films?" Stiles said through a yawn. Derek nodded. "I dunno, not everyone likes horror films. You saw how Isaac reacted when I suggested watching _Jaws_ and, really, that's hardly a horror film. I like them. Besides, it's Halloween isn't the whole idea that you scare yourself shitless?" He settled back into Derek's chest and pulled the blanket more securely over them.

"Like our lives aren't scary enough," Derek answered, his hand drawing idle patterns on Stiles' skin where his shirt had ridden up.

"It's a different _type_ of scary. Werewolf and vampire films never scared me," he shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth, "They _couldn't_ exist, so it didn't frighten me. Even when Scott got bitten it wasn't scary. You guys are nothing like the movies make out." He thought about Jacob Black. Yes, he'd done his research properly when Scott was turned, including sacrificed two entire days of his life to read those damn books. Not that it did them much good, Jacob was a sad excuse for a wolf/shape-shifter/did any one actually understand what he was in the end? "Stuff like this, though," he gestured at the TV screen, "This is scary. It's just mental illness and humans being bastards to each other. It's plausible that someone would do this- people _do_ do this. So it's scary."

"Why would you want reminding of that?" Derek murmured, before going still. Stiles turned his head to see Derek looking towards the hall with a hesitant expression.

"Is it trick-or-treaters?" Stiles gasped, clapping his hands and jumping off Derek's lap. "I love trick-or-treaters," he practically skipped through to the kitchen to grab the bowl of candy his dad left, talking all the way, "Man, I hope the costumes are good this year. We only had one really good one last year that dressed up as Frankenstein's monster. I'm pretty sure his parents must be into cosplay because, seriously, that costume was the best I've ever seen." The doorbell rang and he wrenched it open to a high-pitched chorus of _'trick or treat!'_

"Hey, it's Superman! How you doing, buddy? And a witch, very good, you know real witches don't actually wear pointy hats?" He spoke from experience. "I prefer your version, you. And... Oh my God..." No way. No frigging way! "Derek, come look!" At the back was a slightly older kid, maybe 12 or 13, dressed in tattered jeans and a plaid shirt covered in fake blood. He also had plastic fangs and bushy sideburns. "It's a werewolf!" Derek was by his side in a second, eyes glowing red and his fangs out... Yeah, perhaps shouting that there was a werewolf on his porch wasn't the best idea.

The kids gasped in unison then erupted into shrill, excited noises.

"Your teeth look so real!"

"His sideburns are better than yours, Billy."

"Where did you get the contacts?" Billy, the kid dressed as a wolf asked.

"Oh, well," Stiles cut in, redirecting the kids' attention to him and giving Derek a look that says _shift-back-and-you're-dead . _"We got them online. Aren't they awesome? The fangs came from the fancy dress store. Anyway," he dropped his voice conspiratorially and the kids leaned in to listen. He pulled the bowl out with a flourish, "You want some candy?" With the children distracted, Derek slipped back into the living room. Stiles smirked when he walked back through to him, locking the front door because, yeah, the horror films had freaked him out quite a lot. Not that he had to worry, what with his personal guard dog at his beck and call.

"You literally cried wolf," Derek accused as Stiles sat back down, snuggling into him to get warm again.

"Dude, they were trick-or-treaters, what were you expecting?"

"What was I expecting when you shouted for me and yelled there was a werewolf on your doorstep? Honestly, I was expecting more fur." He snarked back, pressing his nose into Stiles' hair and breathing deeply, reassuring his wolf that his mate was safe and unhurt, then turning his attention back to the TV screen, watching the fake blood spatter everywhere and wondering how _this_ was ever considered good cinema.

"Thanks for running to my rescue," Stiles said after a while, looking up at Derek with earnest eyes. For the first time, he was truly realising that Derek would come and save him if he needed it and it was... humbling. What did he do in a previous life to deserve Derek? He must've saved a bunch of orphans from a fire or something because there's no other way he'd have earned this.

Derek kissed the side of his head and mumbles, almost reluctantly, "I'll always run for you."

And Stiles practically swoons.


	3. Full Moon

_To the guest who asked: 'where can I find a Derek?'_

_Well, that is the ultimate question isn't it? I'll keep my eyes peeled but I get first dibs ;D_

_Dizzy xx_

**Full Moon**

"Derek?" Stiles said as soon as he answered the door. Derek was standing on the other side, blood spattered across his skin and his wonderfully tight T-shirt. His jeans were streaked with dirt and he had a manic look in his eyes... Stiles hadn't been afraid of Derek for a very long time but _this_... Well, his heart was doing a fantastic impression of Ringo Starr – erratic and arrhythmic and faster than it should be. Beyond that, though, was Stiles' concern for his pack. "What happened to Isaac? Weren't you supposed to be running with him tonight?"

Derek didn't answer verbally, just pushed Stiles through into the living room and pulled them both down onto the couch until their chests were pressed together, Stiles' head was tucked under Derek's chin and they're legs were slotted together. It was like two pieces of a puzzle fitting together – they were perfect for each other in every way possible.

Stiles tried to relax as much as he could, knowing that as soon as he tensed up or worried about the blood that Derek was getting on him or embraced the fear he was feeling because _Derek was getting blood on him and Stiles didn't know where said blood was from, _Derek would sense it and probably get all paranoid and question his life choices. Such was their relationship. So instead of letting himself be terrified of this, he reminded himself that this was _Derek_, who had fought for Stiles and protected him countless times. With that thought, he fisted his hands into Derek's shirt and held on, keeping his breathing regular and soothing.

Derek cleared his throat.

"I was with Isaac but... He's with Boyd now..."

"He left you in the woods? _Alone_?" Stiles was angry. They'd had this discussion as a pack a few months ago – the wolves would pair off at the full moon and they'd stick together, never leaving anyone alone in case of hunters. The humans would sometimes go into the woods and run with them, playing tag or hide and seek or whatever else the wolves needed. This month, however, all of the humans were staying home. It was the middle of winter and bitterly cold so no one wanted to spend the night trying to keep up with a bunch of werewolves. Even Allison was sitting this one out.

But the wolves never got left alone, _ever_.

"He just left? We talked about this, we can't seriously be back to doing this already, I mean, Isaac's a nice guy and adorable and cuddles like a pro but he needs to get his shit together. I can't _believe_-"

"_Stiles_."

"What?"

"I sent him to Boyd, calm down," Derek said, tightening his arms around Stiles' waist and pressing them closer together. He raised his head up and nuzzled at the moles behind Stiles' ear, relishing the moment when his pulse sped up.

"You... You sent him to Boyd?" Stiles repeated, sure he misunderstood.

"I needed _you_," Derek's breath tickled Stiles' cheek in the best possible way; warm heat brushing the skin, teasing and promising all sorts of things. It sent a thrill down his spine. "My anchor. My Stiles," Derek sighed and readjusted them until they were sat up, Stiles cradled between his legs and leaning back against his chest, a good, solid heat to keep Derek human.

Just like that, Stiles' anger melted away into something much sappier. It always happened when Derek insinuated that Stiles belonged to him. Apparently Stiles got off on a having sense of long term commitment and security. Things were slow and happy. They didn't have to rush anything because they'd have each other for the rest of their lives.

They sat in silence, both content to breathe in their intermingled scents and settle into this arrangement. Stiles sighed and tilted his head to kiss Derek's neck – something he'd only been allowed to do recently because Derek's wolf expected submission and obedience. It went against literally every instinct Derek had to let Stiles so close to his soft, vulnerable throat. But after the first time, the wolf started accepting it for the sign of intimacy and trust it was, started to accept that his mate wanted to show him how he loved him in a way that made sense to both of them.

"But where did the blood come from?" Stiles asked eventually because, hey, he can't leave a mystery like that unsolved.

"A rabbit snuck up on me," Derek said seriously. Stiles bit his tongue to keep himself laughing out loud, but his shoulders still shook. Derek huffed out an irritated sigh. "I was... on edge tonight."

"That makes sense," Stiles said, stroking the arm around his waist soothingly. He heard the note of confusion in Derek's voice and knew how much he _hated_ having to admit that he was weaker tonight. "Supermoon. The full moon coinciding with the lunar perigee means the moon is closer and looks bigger and brighter than normal. Has more effect on werewolves. Only one in every fourteen full moons is a Supermoon." He traced swirling triskeles onto Derek's palm as he spoke. "They're nice to look at." Derek threaded their fingers together and moved to stand up.

"Come on, then."

...

The blanket they were wrapped in was warm and soft and reminded Stiles so much of the picnics his mom used to take them on when he was a kid. It was nice to be sharing it with Derek now – making new memories to wash away some of the sadness that hung around the old ones. It was also nice to be held so tightly as he recounted stories about said picnics, how his mom collected berries from the woods and made pies from them, how his parents used to smile and hold hands and laugh, how he and Scott made daisy chains for each other instead of running around because Scott's asthma was bad.

Derek listened well, happy to sit with Stiles curled into him and feel the emotions wash over him in waves of sadness and longing and finally happiness again when he kissed the top of Stiles' head or ran his fingers through the boy's hair.

They talked and kissed and held onto each other, showing a vulnerability that only came out when they were alone together. Stiles anchored Derek through one of the hardest full moons he'd ever experienced, keeping the shift at bay, and Derek kept Stiles from losing himself to memories of his mother's hospital room and the smell of disinfectant that still haunted him.

They watched the stars for hours. Sometimes Stiles would talk about complex astronomical theories and metaphysical concepts and Derek would nod along like he knew exactly who Bode was and why his law was so important. Sometimes Derek would smile randomly and Stiles would smile with him, even though he had no idea what was going through the Alpha's head.

They were cocooned in darkness and the moon was, indeed, beautiful.


	4. Cookery

_Things get a little bit sexual towards the end of this chapter. Nothing even remotely explicit, just suggestion, mostly._

_Dizzy :) xx_

**Cookery**

Stiles stopped stirring and turned in Derek's arms so their faces were inches apart. He took in the expression on Derek's face, looking for any sign that he was being sarcastic. Instead he saw complete sincerity a smudge of pasta sauce on his top lip where he'd tasted it a few minutes earlier. Stiles dabbed it off with his fingers and wiped it on a piece of kitchen roll.

"Why would you want to learn how to cook? You have me." He asked, tilting his head to the side and watching curiously as Derek struggled for words. Derek struggling for words wasn't a new thing, it happened at least half a dozen times a day, so Stiles wasn't too worried. He went back to stirring the sauce and checking the spaghetti while Derek got his head straight.

"It doesn't seem right," Derek said at last, leaning on the counter next to the stove.

"What doesn't?" Stiles prompted him, grimacing as the spaghetti crunched between his teeth. Yeah, so not entirely cooked yet. Jesus, there was _al dente_ and then there was so-undercooked-you'll-break-your-teeth.

"You always cook for me... I should cook for you."

"Doesn't it kind of ruin the point if I'm the one teaching you, though?" Stiles reasoned, pulling a baking tray full of meatballs from under the grill and cutting one open. The meat inside was still juicy but not pink. Derek would be happy and Stiles wouldn't get food poisoning – they were cooked to perfection. "Besides, I don't mind, I like cooking for you... In the least house-wifey way possible."

"But I _want_ to cook for you," Derek said, his voice dangerously close to whiny. It only got like that when he really, really wanted something and Stiles wasn't giving it... Something like cookery lessons, for example. "I'm useless otherwise and-"

"Dude, hold on," Stiles interrupted before Derek could go into full _'I'm a terrible person and everything I touch dies'_ mode, "You are not useless, okay? Seriously, how many times have you saved my life? I'm alive because of you, so don't talk shit about not being worth anything because you have more than earned your keep for the rest of your life, even if that's Wolverine length."

"But Stiles-"

"Derek," Stiles mocked his tone, adding his own sassy head movements, "If you want to learn how to cook that much then I'll teach you, but if you're only doing it because you want to be worth something then fuck that shit because you already are, okay?" He drew a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay, come here," he pulled Derek in by his belt loops and kissed him quickly, half a second of lips touching, then he fished another strand of spaghetti from the pot, tearing it in two and passing half to Derek.

"What-?"

"Taste it and tell me what you think," he started lifting his own piece to his mouth and then saw the sceptical look on Derek's face, "What? This is how my mom started me off. The foundations matter. You have to know how to cook spaghetti before you can make a carbonara." He repeated his mother's words to Derek then folded the spaghetti into his mouth. Derek did the same. They stood chewing for a moment and then swallowed at the same time. "So?"

"Over seasoned," Derek replied immediately. "You put less pepper in this time, though."

"Of course; you complained last time. Besides, everything is over seasoned to werewolf taste buds. I tried to feed Scott chilli the other day and he literally almost blew up," he laughed at the memory of Scott's red face as he desperately reached for the yoghurt, watched by Stiles and Allison who were almost passing out from lack of oxygen because they were laughing so much. "I was a little heavy handed with the cumin."

"I can imagine," Derek said, barely holding back his smile.

"What else?" He gestured to the pot again.

"It's still a bit tough, but good otherwise."

"Over seasoned and tough, but good otherwise?" Stiles clarified, smirking a little. "Remind me why you thought I was the best teacher?"

"It'll be good when it's done," Derek pointed to the sauce, "The sauce is sweet, it'll balance out the acidic tomatoes and the salt in the spaghetti and the meatballs will add protein to make it a balanced meal. And I know you'll put basil leaves on top. I don't see how that makes a difference, though, you always pick it off straight away."

Stiles stared.

"Careful, you'll use your quota of words for the day," he teased after a few seconds. He tipped his head to the side and used his eyebrows to show just how baffled he was. "You're right, on all counts. The basil doesn't really do anything, but it's what my mom taught me, so that's how I do it," he shrugged like it meant nothing and like Derek couldn't feel how sad talking about his mom made him. Derek didn't call him out on it though and Stiles took another moment to marvel at how far their relationship had come since the beginning. "Try again," he pulled out another piece of spaghetti and broke it.

...

The next night, Stiles showed Derek how to make chicken pie with a proper latticed top and everything. It had the added benefit of a 45 minute baking time, which they wisely spent making out, Stiles sat on the countertop with his legs wrapped around Derek's waist and his fingers clenched in his dark hair.

Stiles couldn't help thinking that the pie didn't taste anywhere near as good as Derek.

...

The day after that was goulash and Stiles actually trusted Derek enough to cut the onions, which he did pretty well, even if he spent an inordinate amount of time obsessing over getting them the same size. Stiles watched carefully, repositioning Derek's left hand until it made a bridge over the halved onion so he wouldn't slice his fingers off.

Stiles happened to like Derek's fingers how they were, thank you very much.

...

It took a whole week of Stiles showing Derek how to chop vegetables and cook pasta and make sure the white sauce was just right before adding cheese until Derek asked if he could make dinner. Stiles agreed but insisted they do it at his place so he could step in if necessary, even if he wasn't familiar with the recipe Derek had found: chicken korma with pakoras and onion bhajis.

Stiles' mom had never liked Indian food and so never taught him how to cook curries or anything, but Stiles _loved _Indian takeout and Derek knew that korma was his favourite. The pakoras were a completely new addition, but definitely one that Stiles was open to.

The bhajis and pakoras went in the oven first with the timer set for 14 minutes, which Stiles thought was awfully precise. Derek then set about chopping the onions for the korma, his hand forming the perfect shape without a second thought. Stiles smiled like a proud dad at his son's first football game.

Derek turned to the stove and visibly steeled himself. He turned the dial of the smallest hob and hesitated for a split second before pressing the ignite button. He'd struggled with the hob since day one, not coping well at all with the open flame until it was out of sight. Stiles figured that once it was covered by a pan, Derek could pretty much ignore it, especially with Stiles' mouth rather skilfully distracting him. This was the first time Derek had done it alone.

"You're broadcasting," Derek muttered a minute or so later while Stiles grinned from the breakfast bar behind him.

"I don't care," Stiles said, shrugging and taking another sip of his orange juice, practically bursting with pride. Silence fell again until the timer beeped and Derek took the bhajis out of the oven, carefully setting three on each plate on the counter. "I swear you have OCD or something," he watched as Derek arranged the bhajis into neat clusters on the side of the plates.

"I want it to be perfect," Derek sighed.

Stiles' heart melted just a little bit.

Derek lifted the pan off the stove and spooned precisely cut cubes of chicken onto each plate, dribbling the sauce carefully over the top like one wrong drop could end the frigging world. It was adorable. Stiles let it slide without comment because if Derek wanted tonight to be perfect then he, Stiles Stilinski, eternal bench-warmer and pack researcher, would be the best damn date Derek could ever wish for.

...

"Ugh, that was so good. I'm never getting takeout again, it'll never be as good," Stiles said from where he was slumped over the breakfast bar, watching Derek wash the dishes. It wasn't like Stiles was being lazy, he had _tried_ to help, but each time he so much as looked at the dish towel, Derek had growled at him to sit down and shut up until he eventually complied and waited for him to finish. "You almost done there?"

"Done," Derek replied, hanging the towel up and closing the cupboard doors.

"Good," Stiles said, hauling himself up and then kissing Derek full on the mouth, not caring one bit that they tasted of curry and orange juice. He'd tasted worse. Like that one time Greenburg tried to make out with him at the graduation party and tasted like a diseased skunk had died in his mouth. Stiles was distracted from that particular train wreck of a thought by Derek's tongue doing sinful things. He groaned a little and pulled Derek towards the stairs. "Up. Now. Bed. Yeah. You know what I mean." He mumbled between kisses.

"No I don't. Tell me," Derek whispered back, breaking away and licking one long, unbroken trail up Stiles' neck. Stiles shuddered and lost any semblance of dignity he'd tried to retain. Derek knew how turned on he was, what was the point of pretending?

"Fuck me. Now."

"Right now? Against the wall?" Derek smirked. To anyone else, Derek looked totally unfazed by Stiles' demand, but there were sparks of red playing around his pupils and his teeth were just a little too sharp when they nipped at Stiles' earlobe.

"If you want. Lube's in the bedroom though," Stiles shot back. Derek was gonna tease? That's great. Stiles was gonna tease right back and if there was a tiny bit of hope that Derek would, in fact, screw him against the wall, then who was here to tell?

Derek growled and lifted him easily. He got them both up to Stiles' bedroom without breaking their significantly hotter, wetter, wilder kiss and threw them both onto the bed. Stiles took a moment to appreciate the frantic look in Derek's now fully red eyes before he heard the click of a cap and he let himself drift away, feeling deliciously full in all the right places.


	5. Shower

_Sorry it took me this long to update, I've had a few rough days with zero motivation and absolutely no ideas. All it took was an all-nighter and major sleep deprivation and... Ta da. _

_I suppose I should, again, warn you that things get a little STEAMY in this chapter (haha, I actually said it Siobhan) but again, nothing explicit in the slightest. _

_I don't think there's anything else. Hope you're all having a good day._

_Dizzy :) xx_

**Shower**

They use the back door when they re-enter Stiles' house because even though the Sheriff has the night shift at work so they don't have to avoid him, the back door opens straight into the utility room right next to the washing machine and what's the point of tracking blood through the house when they can confine it to one room? Stiles murmurs for Derek to get naked and it's testament to how exhausted they both are that no jokes are made about it, instead they strip off in silence and Stiles starts the washer on a hot cycle. It should be finished by the time the Sheriff gets home in a few hours.

"I need coffee," Stiles slurs, snagging fresh boxers off the pile and slipping them on. Derek would go naked. Neither of them care – Derek was brought up in a house where modesty was basically out the window because of constant shifting between forms and Stiles... Well, Stiles appreciates the view.

They shuffle through into the kitchen, Derek sitting with his head in his hands at the table while Stiles drifts around putting the kettle on and measuring coffee granules and putting Pop-Tarts in the toaster because he's frigging earned it tonight. That witchy bitch didn't go down easily; it took her practically being dismembered and chopped up to stop her casting at Isaac, whose dimples she'd taken a rather unhealthy interest in. Poor Isaac – constantly preyed on for being so darn adorable.

The sound of the toaster popping makes Stiles groan; it's so loud in the silence that he flinches away before realising that this means his pure-sugar-energy-source is ready. He throws one at Derek, who catches it easily and starts lazily nibbling on the corner. Once the coffee is ready, Stiles, too, takes his seat at the table and slumps forward.

It's cosy, kind of nice and safe after a night hunting witches in the woods. The morning sunshine seeps through his mother's yellow curtains, casting a diffused glow all around the kitchen. It reminds Stiles of camping: that early morning feeling, sunlight beating down on the canvas to wake him at dawn, the smell of foliage and dirt that's hovering around them... Yeah, they really need to shower.

"Need to get clean," he says through his last mouthful of Pop-Tart. He doesn't care about full sentences, just about communicating the important bits and it works. Derek downs the rest of his coffee and stands up, holding a hand out for Stiles. They climb the stairs together and it's like a mountain, seriously, Kilimanjaro has nothing on these stairs right now.

"Come on," Derek whispers, pulling him into the bathroom by the hand. Oh yeah, Stiles can do stuff like shower with Derek now. Now that it is _official_. They step into the shower together and Derek pulls him close under then stream of hot water. It's so comfortable, being held upright, warmed on all sides by water and solid, muscled werewolf. Stiles sighs and rests his head forwards until his nose is nuzzling into Derek's shoulder and he can feel each breath the Alpha takes tickling against his ear. It feels safe. So safe after the oppressive darkness of the woods where every tiny shift of leaves was a sign of something that might kill him.

Derek reaches for the shampoo and starts to massage it into Stiles' scalp, slow and sure in his movements and Stiles feels every thought dissipate from his head except _unnnnng _and_ holy shit that's good_. "Tip your head back." He follows the orders willingly, feeling the suds sliding out of his hair and down his back, also acutely aware that his neck is being showcased marvellously and Derek kind of has a fixation with his neck. Sure enough, Derek lets out a tiny whine and leans forward to lick and suck his way up to Stiles' mouth as the shampoo drains away in a swirl of slightly red bubbles.

Stiles gasps a little when Derek's hands slide up his arms, coated with lemon flavoured shower gel that make progress easy. He turns Stiles around, pressing forward until Stiles has to steady himself with one hand on the wall. He glides his slick hands down Stiles' back, thumbs digging into the boy's spine until he moans with pleasure. Derek decides that Stiles should always be making filthy noises, his head lolling forwards, panting a little bit.

If he's a little rough getting the blood of Stiles' spine, who's there to tell?

...

They've been kissing for a long time, now, tongues sliding together in long, languid strokes, their hands wandering and skimming over wet skin just for the sake of it, just to _touch_ because they can do this now – they can take pleasure in their bodies because that's what they're supposed to do... Worship each other.

And if Stiles is honest with himself, he feels like he's falling even more desperately in love with Derek. Even more amazingly, Derek feels the same. Stiles can see it in the way Derek looks at him like all his prayers have been answered. He can feel it in the way Derek cups his face, fingers feather light on his jaw and cheekbones as he strokes and adores every inch of him. He can hear it in the way Derek whispers his name between kisses and tell him he loves him, voice so full of relief because they may have taken a while getting together, but they're sure as hell going to enjoy it now they're here.

But for all Stiles babbles on about God alone knows what, he's never had to put such strong emotions into words, he doesn't know how to say it to make Derek believe it. So he shows him, instead, kisses him desperately but never rushes, caresses his skin quickly but thoroughly, slides their tongues together, hot and wet and deep because he has no idea how else to tell Derek and Derek _needs_ to know.

So when Derek brings him off slowly and methodically, driving Stiles gradually insane with want... That's unhurried too, because they can't rush this.

When they fall into their fresh, clean bed and Derek whispers "I love you," straight into Stiles' ear so it sounds as much a promise as a declaration, Stiles kisses him again, pouring passion and love and need into it in the hope that Derek will understand.

Derek's small smile as they pull back tells Stiles all he needs to know.

Derek understands, because Derek feels the same.


	6. Valentine's Day

_A lot of this chapter is actually in SMS form... I'm not sure why. It made sense at the time._

___Dizzy xx_

_P.S: Things keep taking unintentionally sexual turns when I'm not paying attention. What does that say about my mind?_

_P.P.S: Valentine's Day is, in my opinion, a load of shit. _

**Valentine's Day **

**To:/ Derek/ 13:07**

So... Valentine's Day?

**From:/ Derek/ 13:21**

What about it?

**To:/ Derek/ 13:22**

Well it's next week. Valentine's Day is the 14th, same as every year, that's next Friday

**From:/ Derek/ 13:36**

I'm still not seeing your point.

**To:/ Derek/ 13:37**

Listen, Sourwolf, I'm just saying you know, are we doing something or ignoring it?

**From:/ Derek/ 13:51**

Don't call me that. Why would we do something for it?

**To:/ Derek/ 13:53**

Uh, it's Valentine's Day?! Most couples do something for Valentine's Day! I was just asking, are we doing anything?

**From:/ Derek/ 14:21**

Why, do you want to do something?

**To:/ Derek/ 14:22**

Nothing more than usual, if you know what I mean ;)

**From:/ Derek/ 14:23**

So, sex and poptarts?

**To:/ Derek/ 14:24**

Yes, Derek, sex would be lovely. Don't say it like it's a chore. I know you want my ass 24/7 anyway

**From:/ Derek/ 14:25**

You have no idea.

**To:/ Derek/ 14:27**

Oh I have plenty of ideas. You'll never guess what I'm doing right now, just thinking of the possibilities...

...

Derek arrives at Stiles' house exactly seven and a half minutes later. He jumps through the open bedroom window and joins Stiles on the bed, quickly catching up with the situation and taking Stiles straight down his throat without so much as a hello.

...

"So, Valentine's Day will just be another day, then?" Stiles asks afterwards, curled up with Derek on his bed, feeling well used and sated and all kinds of filthy. "Lots of sex, junk food and movies? Possibly all at the same time?" Cheekily raised eyebrows doing nothing to hide the hope in his voice. He gets a scathing look in return. "Look, the only thing better than sex with you is sex with you when we're covered in whipped cream."

"How would you know?" Derek teases derisively.

"I have very vivid dreams," Stiles does his best to shrug, but it's more emphatic head bobbing than shoulder action because he's wrapped up pretty tight in _Derek_ right now and that doesn't grant much room for movement. There's silence for a few minutes as Stiles things just how much enjoyment he could get from five dollars worth of whipped cream. "Hmm... So worth it."

"I'll bear that in mind."

"Are you saying you're agreeing to one of my plans?"

"No. I'll bear it in mind and if I catch even the tiniest hint of cream anywhere near this house I'm never fucking you again."

"That's a lie," Stiles answers chirpily, pecking Derek on the lips then hopping out of his bed, completely naked and proud to be. "You wouldn't be able to resist me, baby. Whipped cream or no."

Derek ignores how true that probably is then lies back to enjoy the show as Stiles moves around his room, dressing but getting distracted by trivial things like Scott's new profile picture which is pretty much Allison kissing his cheek or how one of his books is in the wrong place so he spends the next twenty minutes checking that everything else is in alphabetical order wearing just his boxers.

It's a very good show, as shows go.

...

**To:/ Derek/ 19:29**

Are you sure you don't want anything for Valentine's? Reddi Whip is $4.49 at Target...

**From:/ Derek/ 19:45**

I have you. That's enough for me.

**To:/ Derek/ 19:48**

Cute, but that can't be satisfying. They sell vanilla whipped cream. Am I the only one who finds this ironic, considering why I'm researching it?

**From:/ Derek/ 19:56**

I don't like vanilla. You're all I want. Now stop with the Valentine's Day talk.

**To:/ Derek/ 19:57**

'You're all I want'. Pfft. Don't pull that cutesy shit on me.

**To:/ Derek/ 20:07**

Do you know what Scott and Allison are doing? They're driving to the coast for the weekend, to that hotel I said *we* should go to. They're going hot air ballooning while they're there.

**From:/ Derek/ 20:12**

Good for them.

**To:/ Derek/ 20:15**

Erica and Boyd are going for dinner at that place I suggested for *your* birthday.

**From:/ Derek/ 20:16**

They may as well enjoy it.

**To:/ Derek/ 20:21**

Lydia and Jackson are going to those car races I thought *you* might like because of your obsession with the Camaro.

**To:/ Derek/ 20:22**

Do you notice how I suggested all three of those things to *you* and now the rest of the pack are doing dreadfully romantic, TRADITIONAL things while we sit around screwing and watching Buffy? Not that I'm complaining...

**From:/ Derek/ 20:39**

We're hardly traditional, though, are we?

**To:/ Derek/ 20:42**

Well, if you mean that you're an Alpha werewolf of a pack of unruly puppies and I'm your barely legal, human mate... Then no. Hell, we aren't even typical in werewolf terms.

**From:/ Derek/ 20:45**

But we love each other. That's what matters.

**To:/ Derek/ 20:46**

Damn, you're right. I hate it when you're right.

**From:/ Derek/ 21:02**

I know.

**To:/ Derek/ 22:39**

I'll bookmark the Reddi Whip page, just in case.

...

In the end they agree to do nothing special. They'll marathon Bridget Jones because Stiles says so, they'll wait for Stiles' dad to go to work (Stiles checked with the station to make sure that the Sheriff would be on duty for the night shift) then they'll have hours of spectacular, mind-blowing sex.

That's the plan, at least, until Valentine's afternoon, when he gets a text from Derek.

**From:/ Derek/ 15:27**

Rogue beta. I'm sorry. I'll be round after your dad's left.

**To:/ Derek/ 15:28 **

Ok. Need any help?

**From:/ Derek/ 15:29**

Taking Boyd. Stay inside. I'll see you later.

So Stiles sighs and throws his phone on the couch because if that isn't a dismissal, he doesn't know what is. He goes to the kitchen and grabs one of the white chocolate cookies that he may or may not have baked because he knew they are Derek's favourite.

...

At 23:35, an hour or so after the Sheriff leaves in his patrol car, there is a sharp knock at the door. Stiles leaps up and runs for it because obviously he's a stereotypical damsel, waiting for her prince to come rescue him from rogue-beta-induced house arrest. He yanks the door open and takes in the picture that his boyfriend makes.

He's standing on Stiles' porch with a kind of sheepish, almost nervous expression on his face and he's holding out two dozen red roses that must have cost him an absolute fortune because they're gorgeous and velvety and the same colour as Derek's eyes when he wolfs out. Stiles takes them and pulls at Derek's belt until he steps inside.

And that's when he sees the other object that Derek is holding and the hungry look in his darkened eyes.

Stiles latches onto Derek's hand, towing him through to the kitchen and gently (but quickly, _hurry up, quickly!_) sets the roses on the dining table. He'll find something nice for them later, like a vase or something, but now he's dragging Derek upstairs and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind them and _pouncing_ on the Alpha, because they have 14 ounces of Reddi Whip to get through before the Sheriff gets home.

And Stiles has _a lot_ of ideas.


End file.
